


it’s just as good (as i knew it would be)

by ArliaDevi



Series: forty seasons [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Comfort, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gentle Sex, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Role Reversal, Tenderness, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArliaDevi/pseuds/ArliaDevi
Summary: He’s so close to the curve of Geralt’s neck, it would be unfair if he didn’t kiss there too, and then the top of his spine, and then the vertebrae, one, two, three, until Geralt sighs underneath him and shifts slightly.‘What are you doing?’Jaskier looks up to find Geralt peering over his shoulder, one amber eye curious.Or,After spending ten years trying to seduce the Witcher into his bed, Jaskier discovers that it's quite difficult to convince him to be anywhere else.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: forty seasons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672033
Comments: 43
Kudos: 1622





	it’s just as good (as i knew it would be)

Jaskier hates winter. He hates the snow, the wind, the jittering of his jawline, but most of all, he hates how he can feel the cold right to his bones. He thrives in balmy weather, top buttons of his doublet undone, skin flush with sweat and alcohol.

Now, his cheeks are pink with windburn, his skin too cold to register touch, his fingers sore and rigid where they’re fisted in his pockets.

It feels like he’ll never be warm again.

It’s been almost two months since they were supposed to part for winter, the days colder as they’d travelled further north. By all accounts, Jaskier should be back in Oxenfurt, warming his toes by the fire in an office, grading papers and composing. Briefly, he wonders if his colleagues are missing him, have noticed his absence. Still, he can hardly believe that given the choice to be there and here – on the side of a god-forsaken mountain – he’d choose here.

Every single time.

He trails Geralt, making sure to walk in the footprints that sink into the ankle-deep snow. Ahead, he leads Roach towards a turn in the narrow pass. They’d reached the base of the mountain yesterday and had camped against the cliff face, their bedrolls side-by-side. It had been bitterly cold, but the air had been still. Now it billows against his thick winter coat, howling through the narrow pass they’re navigating in the dim afternoon.

Geralt turns periodically to check on him. This time, when he turns, he shouts, ‘Not far to go!’ but it’s barely audible over the scream of the wind.

Jaskier looks up but can’t see shit through the snow. Really, when he said he’d go to the end of the world for this man, it was _mostly_ metaphoric.

When they come to a bend in the narrow road, Roach perks up. Geralt steadies her, but Jaskier can see she’s straining forward, pulling Geralt along despite his strength. Ahead, he can see what Roach is desperate for: a small stone hut and stable nestled against the side of the mountain and a dense pine forest. It’s far too run down to be fully habitable, and they’re a day’s climb from the base of the mountain – who in their right mind would live up here?

Geralt unlocks the old wooden door with a key from his pack.

‘This is our halfway house,’ Geralt says as Jaskier slips into the shelter. It’s still cold but at least there’s no wind. ‘It’s not much, but there will be supplies to make a fire, some food. I’ll get Roach settled in.’

The click of his fingers ignites an oil burner near the fireplace and Jaskier huddles in, taking off his gloves to warm his fingers over the small flame. The room is small and cold, but he quickly gets a fire going in the fireplace, and the warm light illuminates the rest of the room: there’s a lumpy mattress in the corner, a chest full of old rusted weapons, rabbit traps and blankets, and a few cupboards full of jarred condiments, pickles and sauerkraut. He finds a small sack of flour; it’s too cold for even the weevils to live, and with a little water from his skin, makes damper. It’s dirty and smells like musk, but it’s better than being outside.

Geralt brings their packs into the cabin, setting their blankets and furs out on the mattress, before settling down in front of the fire.

‘Will Roach be okay out there?’ he asks as Geralt fossicks through the small kitchenette.

‘She’ll be fine; it’s well protected,’ he replies, opening the pickle jar.

When the damper is cool enough to eat they feast on whatever leftover jerky is in their packs, hard cheeses, pickles and sauerkraut. It’s not much of a dinner, but it’s enough. Jaskier takes a swig from his flask and feels the Redanian vodka warm him from the inside.

‘We’ll be at the Keep before sundown,’ Geralt explains as he takes a swig from the offered flask. ‘I sent a pigeon up to the Keep. There’s a coop behind the cottage.’

The night’s still early but the warmth of the fire and the vodka do little to keep his eyes open. His entire body just _aches_ , from the cold, from the strain, from the climbing. The Witcher in questions sits silently beside him, his amber eyes shining in the firelight as he watches the flames dance. Jaskier knows the blank, weary look in his eyes – his Witcher is also exhausted.

Geralt turns to him, his movements unhurried. ‘Do you want a bath? There’s one outside. I can drag it in, melt the snow.’

The fire is doing an admirable job of heating the small room, but there’s still a bite in the air. ‘If you think I’m taking off a single layer of clothing, you’re sadly mistaken.’

Geralt shifts a little to let Jaskier settle against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.

‘Really?’ Geralt hot breath caresses the shell of Jaskier’s ear and a shiver runs down his spine. ‘Not for _any_ reason.’

Fingers find their way underneath his woollen jumper and cotton undershirt until they trace the length of his spine.

Geralt switches ears. ‘Not if I pulled the furs over to the fireplace?’

Jaskier tries not to react. Geralt’s fingers skim higher.

‘Not if I said there’s no living soul, or Innkeeper, for miles.’ He mouths Jaskier’s earlobe as he tugs over the furs and blankets from the bed. ‘No need to stay quiet?’

The hand on his back slips around to his chest, trails down his stomach and slips into his trousers. Jaskier adjusts slightly in his arms, letting out a satisfied sigh.

‘That’s it,’ Geralt burrs as his other hand peels off Jaskier’s jumper, undoes the buttons on his leather vest, the cotton shirt, the thin gauzy chemise– before his hand hits the hot skin of Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier feels his nipples pebble against the cool air, but then Geralt’s hot mouth is on him and he can’t suppress the whimper.

It doesn’t take much for him to be pushed against the furs, spread out in front of the fire. Geralt looms above him, keeping the heat between them as Jaskier stretches out over the fox fur. A gentle nudge and Jaskier’s thighs part for Geralt to slip between. One day he’ll put up resistance, he’ll make Geralt work for it, but he’s warm and sated by the fire, and it’s been a long trudge up the mountain,

And really, Geralt is gorgeous in the spring, his hair long from months at Kaer Morhen, his body well-rested, fresh again

He’s gorgeous sweat-soaked in the summer, drinking ale by an open window, only dressed in light linens

He’s gorgeous in the autumn as they walk a path surrounded by vibrant trees, and Jaskier looks up, and Geralt is backed by a wash of colour

And he’s just as gorgeous now, in the winter, his body sore and exhausted from the hike, seeking comfort, seeking calm against Jaskier’s, the years work finally at breaking point within his body.

Jaskier welcomes him; kisses him long and slow and feels him melt into the embrace, feels the length of his nude body press against his. Tomorrow night they’ll be in a keep full of Witchers, but tonight, it’s just them, in a cabin with no other occupants, no Innkeepers, no immediate threats or danger. Just the feel of warm bodies slipping against the softness of a rug as -

The door to the cabin swings open, bringing in a gust of snow and bitterly cold wind. Jaskier screams as a hooded figure steps into the cabin holding an axe. Geralt covers Jaskier’s body with his own as he snarls at the intrusion. And fuck, Geralt’s swords are on the other side of the room because neither of them had expected to be gutted halfway up a mountain by an axe-wielding yeti.

‘Melitete's quivering thighs!’ the figure laughs as he pushes off his hood. Snow falls around his feet. ‘Hello to you, too.’

Geralt relaxes against Jaskier’s body. ‘Would it kill you to fucking _knock_?’

The other man just laughs and sits on the edge of the mattress. ‘Surprised you didn’t hear me coming, but I can see you were a little distracted,’ his eyes drift to Jaskier, who peeks out from under Geralt’s shoulder. ‘Eskel.’

He outstretches a hand to shake. ‘Jaskier.’

Eskel goes to take his hand, but at the last moment, hesitates. ‘On second thought, you two look certainly handsy. Bedding your bard, Geralt, how original.’

‘Get out,’ Geralt growls.

‘ _Excuse me_ ,’ Eskel says. ‘I’ve been out hunting for three nights preparing to feed you sorry ass. Was on my way over when I recognised a pretty little mare in the stalls and thought we could have a nice reunion.’

Jaskier knew it was a mistake to take off his clothes tonight; now he’s sprawled out under the Witcher as naked as the day he was born. His shirt is at Eskel’s feet.

‘If you, um, don’t mind,’ he says, indicating at the forgotten garment. Eskel picks it up and tosses it to him.

Geralt, however, has no qualms about his nudity, nor the compromising position he’s just been found in. ‘Far down the mountain to be hunting.’

‘Keep had early snow on the western slopes. Hoping the southern end was a bit better,’ Eskel replies as Geralt slips on a pair of pants. Eskel, at least, glances away. ‘Was right.’

Geralt hands Jaskier his pants with a look that could almost be an apology as Eskel steps into the small kitchenette to find something to eat.

‘You guys right down there on the floor, or we all gonna cuddle on the mattress. What do you think, Jaskier, we could keep you warm from both sides?’

Jaskier isn’t exactly sure what to say to that proposal, but Geralt growls back, ‘Watch it.’

‘You always were the possessive type,’ Eskel hums as he waltzes back over to the mattress and begins undoing his armour. ‘No matter, Jaskier, I was just joking of course. It’s too early in winter to be on such a bad foot. Forgiven?’

‘Um, sure,’ Jaskier replies though he’s not sure what he’s forgiving exactly.

Eskel turns back to Geralt. ‘See? We’re right as rain.’

Geralt hums as if he’s unconvinced, but then he’s turning toward Jaskier and settling down on the floor, a gentle hand at Jaskier’s hip guiding him to nestle in close. It’s warm by the fire, and even though they’re sleeping on the ground _yet again,_ he doesn’t feel like complaining. There’s little noise from Eskel as he settles into bed across the room, and all Jaskier can feel is the warmth of Geralt’s body and the feel of him breathing beside him.

In the morning, they make porridge from oats and a little bit of water and then start on the blisteringly cold, steep trudge up to the Keep. It’s early afternoon when Jaskier sees the spires in the distance; they’ve been walking for _hours_. A torch glows up ahead. _They’re here._

* * *

He wakes to the white light of a winter morning, the white fur of a fox, the tangled white locks of a wolf curled around him, seeking warmth from the frigid morning and still undisturbed from slumber.

The blankets and furs are piled around them like they are hibernating beasts. He doesn’t know if it’s early or late, only that the fire has died out and he has neither the inclination or the energy to get up and relight it. Time is meaningless now. All he knows are times when he is in bed and not – and in those hours between bedtimes, he eats, helps the Witchers where he can, reads in their library, bathes in their baths, composes song after song, most of which make it past the walls of this keep, and some if he’s being honest, will never be sung outside the confines of this comfortable, plush bed. He has written epics worshipping the body beneath him, composed symphonies made entirely of the noises his lover makes, traced stanzas with his tongue over golden flesh like its paper.

Geralt is face-down in the pillows, blissfully snoozing. Jaskier turns, shifting his body slightly, and drops a kiss on his shoulder, relishing the feeling of warm, soft skin against his mouth. Just below his chin is a scar from the bite of a blade and he kisses that too. Just gently, not enough to disturb.

He really doesn’t want to disturb.

But then he sees the arrow wound on his shoulder blade, the scar red and angry in its freshness, and thinks it deserves a little extra attention, so cranes over to kiss that, too.

But then he’s so close to the curve of Geralt’s neck, it would be _unfair_ if he didn’t kiss there too, and then the top of his spine, and then the vertebrae, one, two, three, until Geralt sighs underneath him and shifts slightly.

‘What are you doing?’

Jaskier looks up to find Geralt peering over his shoulder, one amber eye curious.

‘Good morning to you, too,’ he murmurs and then continues down his spine. When he gets to his tailbone, he looks up through his lashes to see Geralt’s head drop back down. His hands settle either side of Geralt’s hips, thumbs massaging the curve of his ass.

‘What’s your plan there, Jaskier?’ his voice is slightly muffled from the pillow.

He drops his lips against the pale, soft flesh of a cheek.

Geralt isn’t _adverse_ to what Jaskier wants to do, what he _really_ wants to do, but he does need convincing. _Seducing_ , Jaskier considers as his hands smooth over the curve of his ass once again. Because if Geralt lets him do this, he might just–

‘Can I?’ Jaskier says gently because Geralt won’t ask for this, won’t ever ask him to do this, despite how much he enjoyed it that one time, despite the fact Jaskier could spend all winter between his thighs in all manner of ways, and has _actively tried_ _to do so_ this winter.

Geralt just groans gently into the crook of his arm, face hidden, and raises his hips just a little.

Had this been a month ago, Jaskier would have taken the movements of his body as consent, but they’re trying this new thing called _communication_ after their first encounter seemed to create some mixed messages.

‘You know how much I like to hear your voice, Geralt.’

‘Get on with it, Jaskier.’

That will do.

Next time Jaskier will work on the _polite_ way to consent to having your ass kissed.

‘Grumpy this morning,’ he murmurs before putting his mouth to _better use_.

Geralt sighs raggedly into the crook of his arm at the warm touch. Jaskier rests a hand on a quivering thigh before sweeping it underneath to grab a hold of him. It doesn’t take long until Geralt is _quaking_ in Jaskier’s arms, under his mouth–

‘Fuck me,’ Geralt demands, his voice ragged and rough. 

Oh, how wonderful.

‘In a moment, darling, I’m quite enjoying this.’

‘Cut the shit,’ Geralt demands. ‘This was your plan from the beginning.’

So what if it was?

‘No plans, no schemes.’ His hand pumps Geralt lazily and he feels the Witcher’s core shudder with the effort. ‘I’m trying to decide if I do what you ask, or if I just make you come with my mouth. Allow me to ponder for a while longer.’

His mouth goes back to work and Geralt groans into his arm.

Technically, he’s got what he wanted. Frankly, it was a little quicker than expected. Despite his gruffness, Geralt must be in an amendable mood this morning because when it comes to this, his Witcher is _not an easy lay._

‘Once on my mouth, darling,’ Jaskier decides. ‘And then I’ll give you what you want.’

Geralt almost sobs into the pillows – and oh, what a wonderful noise that is – as Jaskier presses in firmly, his hand increasing efforts. It doesn’t take much; just the tempo and pressure he knows Geralt likes, efficient and fast, and the warmth of his mouth. A breath hitches and Jaskier feels Geralt tighten beneath him, shudder, and let go.

‘Good,’ he hums as he strokes him to completion. ‘Oh, you’re so good to me.’

He gives Geralt a few moments, thumb gently rubbing over his slick opening. The Witcher pants hard beneath him as Jaskier rises to his knees, and just for a moment, it’s too much for him: his lover, the setting, what he’s letting him do, the _trust_ he must have to bring him here, to let him do this willingly.

‘Love you,’ he murmurs as he massages Geralt’s hips. They press back slightly in silent invitation. ‘Darling, the oil.’

It’s on his side of the bed, accidentally dropped onto a rug last night. 

‘Don’t need it.’

‘You most certainly do,’ Jaskier argues. ‘Don’t be lazy.’

With a huff, Geralt leans off the bed, grabs the vial and throws it back at Jaskier.

‘Was that so hard?’

‘Hurry up,’ Geralt groans, his face pillowed by his arms.

If Jaskier was in any real mood he’d complain.

He’d make Geralt pay.

But Geralt is already letting him do this.

Not that he’s not an _active participant_ but it seems the stars must align before Geralt can be seduced into receiving.

Even though it’s wonderful, it’s happened only once before.

And also,

He’s put up with a lot of things from the Witcher,

But being snippy because Geralt wants his dick in him simply doesn’t rank high on the list of things to get angry about.

Not when Geralt is so relaxed that an oiled finger slips into him with _ease_. Not when his finger goes deep and Geralt’s spine bows in the most delicious way. Jaskier runs a flattened palm down the curve of his back, skimming over raised scars and uneven skin.

‘You’re so gorgeous.’

Jaskier adds another finger and Geralt’s hands twist around the down pillow. He goes deep and Geralt whimpers, _holy fuck he whimpers_.

‘Fuck.’

And Jaskier knows he _has_ ,

Just not _often_ ,

And not for a long time before they got _together_ ,

There’s a certain amount of control he needs to give up, a certain vulnerability, and the importance is not lost on him,

He wants to keep doing this, just this, forever, but then Geralt groans his name – heavy and thick with want – and he can’t wait any longer.

Still,

There may be time for a lesson.

Jaskier bends to press a kiss against Geralt’s shoulder. ‘Darling, are you sure you still want this?’

‘Fuck Jaskier, just get on with it.’

It earns him a light slap on the rump. Geralt jumps forward as gooseflesh erupts across his back and shoulders. _Interesting_. ‘Impatient as always.’

He slips in and Geralt’s spine curls, rocking back. His hand reaches out to grasp at the mattress, head dipping against the mattress as Jaskier rocks forward.

‘Fuck.’

He’s gentle, slow, which he knows Geralt will find maddening eventually, but for now, he relishes the gentle rock of the Witcher’s body back against him, enjoys the feel of his hips against his palms, relishes in the short gasp he’s rewarded with when he thrusts a little harder.

‘Harder.’

He laughs a little but doesn’t change the pace. ‘You can come like this.’

Geralt looks back at him, a single eye just a slither of amber.

In a moment of curiosity, he gives his lover exactly what he wants; harder and faster and Geralt curls under him, his thighs spreading slightly. When Jaskier slows back down after a short moment, he’s surprised by Geralt’s sudden plea.

‘Please.’

Oh. This is new.

‘Jaskier, please.’

Jaskier smooths his hand down Geralt’s bowed back and up to his shoulder before pushing his long white hair over one shoulder. Geralt turns his face and Jaskier runs his thumb pad across his lower lip, thrusting slow and shallow.

Geralt takes it into the hotness of his mouth and sucks gently. He’s flushed, pink cheeks glowing as he suckles on the tip of Jaskier’s thumb. ‘Oh, love.’

Jaskier steadies himself, regretfully drawing his thumb from Geralt’s mouth – he’ll explore that _later_. ‘I want you to come for me now.’

‘I can’t-,’ Geralt chokes. ‘Not like this.’

‘What do you want?’

Geralt hesitates, his body pushing back against Jaskier’s thighs

‘Tell me, I’ll give you whatever you want, just tell me.’

‘Jas, give it to me, please, _fuck,’_

So he does, he grasps Geralt’s hip in a way that he knows is probably almost painful and pulls him back, meeting him forward in frenzied thrusts. Oh, to see his face. Jaskier will have to have him on his back next time, or somehow rig a mirror up because he needs to see the look on Geralt’s face as he makes him come undone.

Geralt twists in the sheets and shudders with his release as Jaskier grips the flesh off his ass tightly and drives home.

‘Shit,’ he cries and pulls out to spill across Geralt’s lower back. He leans off the bed to grab at last night’s dirty laundry and wipes down Geralt’s back. With a sigh, he flops back down on the mattress beside Geralt. A single amber eye watches him over the fold of his arms.

‘Good morning,’ he murmurs.

Geralt only looks mildly annoyed, which considering he’s come twice before breakfast, Jaskier is _affronted_.

But then Geralt rises onto his elbows and leans over to kiss him deeply.

‘Didn’t expect that,’ he murmurs against his lips.

‘Yes, well, what can I say, inspiration struck? You know I worship that ass of yours.’

Geralt laughs a little and kisses his collarbone, shoulder, before loosening a sigh. ‘I need another bath.’

Outside, the wind rattles the windows of the keep. Geralt stretches out languidly beside him. Downstairs, he can hear people in the kitchens preparing breakfast, or perhaps lunch, or perhaps they’ve slept through the day there’s nothing else they can do but bathe and eat and retire again.

‘I don’t suppose you know if it’s morning or afternoon,’ Jaskier yawns as he grabs fresh clothes from the trunk at the foot of the bed. He needs to get onto doing laundry. Sun filters through the window, breaking through the clouds. Perhaps today.

‘Morning,’ Geralt replies as he sparks up the fire to warm water. There’s a cold tap of water that runs up from the springs and the kitchen that doesn’t freeze over despite the sub-zero temperatures outside. He fills the large cauldron for the bath and hooks it over the fire, letting the flames warm his nude body.

Jaskier wraps a blanket around his shoulders and sits on the edge of the bed until Geralt pours steaming water into the iron tub and ushers Jaskier over.

‘You first. It’ll be too hot for me,’ he says as he settles in next to the fire.

Geralt nods and steps in the bath, hissing in pleasure as he sinks into it. This has been something else Jaskier’s slowly introduced him over the years they’ve been together: just taking a bath because it’s enjoyable, not because one is particularly dirty or covered in entrails.

Geralt’s hand swirls through the hot water. ‘Are you happy here?’

He says it so morosely, Jaskier scoffs. ‘Too bad if I’m not right, the pass must have snowed over by now.’

‘Jas-,’

Jaskier rolls his eyes. ‘Of course, I am. I eat and compose and share a bed with a very comely man every night.’

‘No one has ever called me comely,’ Geralt mutters.

‘Ah, well you certainly were this morning,’ Jaskier hums, leaning over the edge of the tub. He dips in a finger. It’s not _that_ hot. ‘Very _comely_ indeed.’

For a moment, Jaskier thinks that Geralt didn’t get that particular joke, and he’s about to say _comely, you know, because I covered you in my–_ but then he’s heaved into the water. Geralt settles him on his lap, thighs either side of his hips and Jaskier thinks Geralt is about to say something when there’s a knock at the door.

‘Get your asses out of bed!’ It’s Eskel. ‘It’s almost mid-morning.’

‘We’re in the bath.’

There’s a pause. ‘You’re not often right, Geralt, but your advice to learn how to knock was fucking stellar. Get your hands off each other, get dressed and get to breakfast, you pair of fucking hedonists.’

Geralt laughs at that, his eyes sparkling as he turns back to Jaskier. ‘I don’t think he’s entirely wrong.’

Jaskier presses his hips forward a little. ‘And what’s wrong with the pursuit of pleasure?’

Geralt shifts under him. ‘Careful.’

‘We’re in a bath, how much dirtier can we get?’

‘You’re insatiable.’

Jaskier drops a kiss on his shoulder. ‘Ten years of wanting you. Forty seasons. Forgive me if I want to make up for the lost time.’

Geralt pulls him forward just as Jaskier’s stomach betrays him by letting out a small rumble. His hands immediately loosen.

‘Breakfast first.’ Geralt presses a kiss to his throat. ‘We have time. And you’ll certainly need the energy.’

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this bought some happiness to an otherwise difficult time - thank you for reading!
> 
> Staying home and reading fanfic will get us through this.


End file.
